


Quest 01: The Temple Knights

by FictionCookie



Series: Of Gods and Men [1]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionCookie/pseuds/FictionCookie
Summary: After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line...





	1. Troll Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my full series 'Of Gods and Men', and on my page can be read in full (or as far as I've posted). I'm also posting it in smaller chunks as each 'quest' can sort of be standalone, but read as part of a wider story as well.

“INCOMING!”

The cry echoed through the town like a gunshot. Instantly, the dreary principality of Burthorpe was alive and kicking.

Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut was on his bed at the time, resting his feet over a book he’d borrowed from his bunkmate: ‘The Ghastly Grimoire’, a collection of short (supposedly true) ghost stories. Horror wasn’t too much his forte, but good literature was hard to come by at the military base.

However, as soon as as he heard the deafening bellow from the major, ‘By the Light of the Moon’, the collection’s fourth tale, became the furthest thing from his mind.

It was the second raid of the fortnight, the fifth of the month, and by now, Jahaan knew the drill like clockwork. He slipped into his iron plate armour and platelegs within half a minute, then adorning a half-helm to cover his head. From beside his bunk, he grabbed his steel shortsword and iron square shield.

The soldiers were trained with either a shortsword and claws, or a bow and arrow. Melee fighters had to be trained in very close-quarters combat, with an emphasis on accuracy, so claws were favoured. Jahaan got along with the claws just fine, but definitely felt more at home with a blade in his hand.

 

When he dashed out of his tent, still fiddling with his gloves, he saw a brightly coloured man just a few tents over, juxtaposing the dismal surroundings of the military camp. Burthorpe was a very grey town - the climate meant that for most of the year the place was overcast, shrouded in thick clouds, occasionally drenching the place in rain, just to make it look that much more miserable. Today was one of those days. The brightly coloured man, however, did not seem phased by the dark, or the cold, or the wind or the rain, despite him wearing clothes much more suited to desert climates.

With a grin, Jahaan hurried over to the only man he knew to be that inappropriate in his attire.

“Ozan!” Jahaan exclaimed when he was in earshot.

Ozan turned from the conversation he was engaged in and, upon seeing Jahaan trot over to him, met the man in the middle with a tight embrace. “Jahaan, my man!”

Ozan was a fairly tall gentlemen with a smile that exuded charisma, brightening up even the most miserable of places; he was like a glowing candle in the middle of Burthorpe, a flame that could never be extinguished. His skin was slightly dark, like Jahaan’s, showing his desert origins. An expertly crafted bow was strung over his shoulders, with a large quiver of arrows to accompany it.

“What are you doing here?” Jahaan asked as they released their embrace.

“I was seeing a man about a herb in Taverly, and thought I’d come up to see if you were still alive. Turns out you are! Bravo!”

Hoping the trolls could wait another minute, Jahaan continued, “When did you get here, then? You timed it about right.”

“Crackerjack timing is my style. I literally just got here, and was about to come looking for you, but these fine gentlemen said they hadn’t had a drink in about three weeks, and I just HAD to help their poor souls. Now though, I think I’ll stay for the fun.”

One of the aforementioned soldiers, who was securing his arm guards, asked, “How do you two know each other?”

Ozan grinned. “It’s a long story. Ancient pyramids, lost treasure that turned out to be a bloke… I’ll tell you all about it once we make it out of this nuisance.”

“IF we make it out,” the soldier corrected, crossing himself.

“Oh, not if, WHEN. I’m not dying today.”

Jahaan shook his head in despair. “You really haven't heard of not tempting fate, have you?”

Ozan winked, taking his bow from over his shoulders. “That would only slow me down,” he hopped over the barricade and joined the line of rangers who were readying themselves for the impending assault.

Twisting his steel shortsword around his hands a few times and gripping tightly onto his shield, Jahaan exhaled deeply, before running to the frontline.

 

There were three main fronts the trolls attacked on - east, west and centre. They never were all that coordinated with their attacks and sometimes only attacked one front per raid. Even then, they didn’t pool all their resources into it. Well, what little resources they had. Trolls had numbers that far outweighed what the Imperial Guard managed, but they were outclassed and outweaponed by their human opponents. Despite the numbers advantage, this was rarely utilised; sometimes trolls attacked with only a dozen to their ranks. The working theory was, legitimately, that a few of them got bored and began to cause a ruckus, trying to invade the town for the sheer hell of it.

The brutes were Bandosian, through and through, revelling in war and bloodshed. Bandos, being the War God that all trolls worshipped. Even in his absence of Gielinor, his presence was still felt in the chaos his followers caused.

Jahaan was on centre front, the main one, where the original horn had been blown from. So far, no other horns from the other battlements had sounded, meaning it didn’t look like the trolls were attempting a two-pronged attack today.

With about a dozen rangers on the battlements, another six back by the castle wall, and two dozen melee fighters on the frontline, all soldiers braced themselves for the attack.

 

The battlefield was fought in a small valley, surrounded by rocky mountains at either side, leading up to the Death Plateau. It provided a decent defence in that it streamlined where the trolls could attack from, but at the same time it concentrated their focus onto one small area that lead up to the battlements. On this dismal day, rain was already pouring from the grey skies, creating puddles in the uneven graveled ground beneath them.

Major Rancour stood atop the battlements, looking through her telescope as the trolls advanced. They didn’t have long. Clearing her throat, she drew her shortsword, held it high into the air, and shouted, “They want to burn our homes! They want to destroy our farmland and kill our loved ones! They will not succeed today! Every troll that falls is a crack in the glass house of the troll kingdom, and soon, they will all fall!”

Soldiers all around Jahaan cheered and screamed with bloodlust in their eyes, gripping their weapons tightly as the trolls rounded the final corner, led by the one they knew as General Morningstar.

He stood at twelve feet tall, his rock-covered body a natural armour, only leaving a few sensitive areas of bare flesh that the soldiers knew to target. Yellow and blue warpaint was haphazardly painted across his chest, though it didn’t resemble anything in particular. It seemed like he had small strands of grass growing out of the top of his head; his face sported two huge buck teeth at the front, guarding a large mouth that could devour a man with ease.

With an earth shattering roar, Morningstar motioned for his trolls to attack.

Morningstar’s battlecry couldn’t be matched by all the soldiers on the battlefield, but they gave it a damn good try, charging into battle and engaging the first troll that grunted in their direction.

Fortunately, these trolls were not gifted with the size and stature of their general, most of them standing at between four and six feet. They relied on brawn over brains, and due to their size, agility and speed were their weaknesses - the soldiers knew to keep moving, to get behind their opponent when they could, and aim for the softer skin located on the troll’s belly, the back of their neck, and at the arm and leg joints.

 

“SHIELDS!”

Jahaan didn’t know where the shout was coming from, but instincts kicked in; quickly, he dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his grip as he did so, in order for him to use both hands to brace his iron shield above his head. Every soldier did the same in unison, right as a barrage of rocks came raining down from the sky. It was the crude ariel assault from the trolls. In actuality, it did just as much harm as good, as more often than not the rocks would take out one of their own rank instead of a Burthorpe soldier. Each and every rock than dented his shield caused Jahaan to groan and wince - it wasn’t easy pushing back against that weight, but he survived. As soon as the all clear was given, he swiftly swooped his sword back up into his hands and cut through the first troll he saw, penetrating the soft area of his flesh with ease.

It didn’t take long before the majority of the troll foot soldiers were disposed of, leaving only their general.

 

Morningstar picked up a large boulder and launched it across the battlefield, over the heads of all the foot soldiers and straight into the castle walls. It shattered on impact, crashing large and heavy fragments down on the unprotected rangers, one of them Ozan, who fell to the ground, buried under the rocks. Seeing this, Jahaan went to rush to his side, before Rancour yanked him back by the sleeve of his uniform and motioned in the direction of Morningstar, who was roaring in a frenzy.

“Him first,” she ordered, holding her sword aloft, before charging towards the troll general. Jahaan followed in hot pursuit. When they got close, Morningstar pummelled the ground, causing a shockwave that sent the two of them tumbling to the floor, but they scurried away before the general could capitalise. Rancour swung for the softer flesh of the troll, but Morningstar twisted in time, causing the blade to ricochet off his rocky exterior. Jahaan went for a swing to the head, but Morningstar used his large arm to deflect the blow, throwing a punch at Jahaan in retaliation, who just about managed to roll out of the way to avoid impact. Fortunately, this distraction was enough to allow Rancour to land a significant cut on the kneecap of the general. Morningstar crumbled onto one knee, roaring in pain and fury. He swiped at Rancour with such force that the woman was sent flying back a good thirty feet, landing in a heap near the battlements. Just as Morningstar was about to turn his attention to Jahaan, the troll was too late; Jahaan stabbed his longsword deep into the trolls gut, twisting the blade inside, a fatal wound. He cut diagonally down as he removed the bloodstained sword; swaying and staggering, the troll then collapsed to the ground, breathing his final breath.

Major Rancour picked herself up from the ground, dusted herself off, and called out, “You injured, corporal?”

“No ma’am,” Jahaan exhaled, trying to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Has anyone checked on Ozan?”

Emerging from the rubble, Ozan rubbed the back of his head and said, “You guys looked like you had everything under control. I thought I’d just hang back for a bit…”

As soon as the young man was in range, Jahaan punched Ozan in the arm. “Don’t you scare me like that again,” his scolding was light, too wrapped up in relief. “I thought we’d lost you there.”

“Ha! It takes more than that to take down-, wait do you hear that?”

It was faint, muffled, but there was the unmistakable sound of…

“Crying?” Jahaan ventured, confused. Looking around, he didn’t see any of his comrades breaking into tears, and it sounded more like a child than any adult.

From behind Morningstar’s corpse, a small, rock-like creature crawled out from a nearby boulder. It weaved its way under Morningstar’s massive arm, up to his large head, and looked into his lifeless eyes. It’s tiny little arms shivered as its disproportionate head nudged Morningstar’s, trying to will the general to wake up. After a few futile attempts, the little creature began to quiver, breaking down into more quiet, whimpering sobs.

The major’s shoulders sagged; she bit her lip, sighing. “Morningstar must’ve been its father. I wish trolls wouldn't always take their children on raids like this...”

One of the soldiers took his bow from over his shoulders and readied an arrow, but his heart wasn’t in it. “It’s a troll… shouldn’t we…”

Taking one look into the round, beady eyes of the baby troll, Jahaan was quick to dispel such an idea. “We can’t kill it, look at it - it can’t be more than a week old.”

Slowly, he edged closer to the baby troll, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. He was rather unsuccessful, as the troll jumped in fright and hid behind his father’s arm, trembling.

“Hey little fella, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” his voice was as soft as cotton wool. Crouching low, he held his hands out in a gesture of peace, not that the troll would be able to comprehend such things. It wasn’t likely he knew much of the common tongue, either. However, there was a universal language he knew the troll would be able to understand. Turning back to Ozan, he asked, “What do you have in your satchel?”

Snapping to attention, Ozan quickly rummaged through the contents of his shoulder bag. “Umm some wine, a dagger, a map, some coal, some rum, a scarf, some different wine…”

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan said, “Gimme the coal.”

Ozan carefully made his may over to Jahaan, trying not to frighten the troll any further. Handing over the coal, Jahaan then held out his hand, and offered the coal to the troll. “Food?”

At this, the troll’s eyes lit up. “Food!” it squeaked, gulping down the small lumps in one go. It wriggled and danced in happiness as the coal slipped down, its eyes shining with delight.

Jahaan felt his heart grow three sizes that day. “Look at him, look how cute he is!”

Ozan plucked up the courage to kneel down beside Jahaan, his face a picture of warmth. “He is rather adorable. Look at his little leaf sticking out of his head, and his little troll pants, and his little pacifier... awwww!”

The major shook her head at the two men cooing over the little creature, but she couldn’t help but crack a smile. “If you two love him that much, why don’t you just adopt him?”

Jahaan and Ozan shared a look, which caused the major to correct, “No, I wasn’t serious!”

Ozan grinned. “Do you think he could handle my heroic adventures?”

“ _ You _ can barely handle your heroic adventures,” Jahaan chuckled in reply. Looking down at the fidgeting baby troll, Jahaan smiled and crossed his legs, inviting the baby troll into his lap. Eagerly, the troll shuffled up to him and cuddled into his thigh. “What’s your name, little fella?”

The troll’s face screwed up. “Name?”

“Trolls are named after the first thing they try to eat,” Major Rancour piped up. “Is that the first thing you’ve eaten, little one?”

The troll nodded, his little arms reaching out for more food. Ozan fished out one last lump of coal from his satchel, which the troll scoffed down, greedily. “Then his name is Coal!”

“Coal!” the troll echoed. “Me Coal! Me want foooooood!”

Jahaan laughed, putting a hand on Ozan's shoulder. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, old friend.”

Jahaan and Ozan were busy enjoying the cute faces Coal was pulling when, from behind them, came a shout:

“Corporal Alsiyad-Abut?”

Jahaan turned around, squinting his eyes to find the source. A lanky man on the battlements holding a note seemed to fit the bill. “That’s me.”

“Commander Denulth wants to see you in his tent.”

Warily, Jahaan and Ozan exchanged worried glances, the former biting back a gulp. With a quick dart of his eyes to Major Rancour, Jahaan saw that she knew nothing about this, worrying him further. In all his time in the Imperial Guard, Jahaan had only a few run-ins with the Commander, none of them pleasant.

Bracing himself, Jahaan climbed up the rope ladder and navigated through the maze of tents before coming across where Commander Denulth was based.

 

“Come in,” the commander grunted when Jahaan appeared at the doorway.

Commander Denulth was a tall, well-built gentlemen, with a small grey moustache and beard combination. His bald head bounced light off it, creating shadow puppets on his dome from the candles. Sturdy steel shoulderplates and arm guards covered his black tunic, the mark of the Imperial Guard emblazoned on the centre. From the waist downwards he was covered in continuous steel, capping off in spike-toed boots. When Jahaan entered the tent, his gruff demeanour only grew tenser, his narrow eyes regarding the young corporal with the same disdain he seemed to hold for everyone and everything, even rabbits. It was a face only a mother could love. 

“Sit down,” he ordered, his low voice gravelly. Immediately, Jahaan obeyed.

Denulth had taken his seat over the other side of his pristine oak desk, picking up a few papers and proceeding to read through them in silence. All the while, Jahaan fumbled his fingers, unsure where to focus his eyes. It felt wrong to stare directly at the commander, but then again, was it rude to look elsewhere? Would that give the impression he was bored? That he wished he could be anywhere else? While the latter might be true - Denulth was a rather imposing man, one you never wanted to be stuck alone with - he didn’t want that to come across. So, instead, he resigned to straighten his shoulders and look at the small hole in the fabric of the tent behind Denulth’s shiny head. While the commander flicked through his papers in agonising silence, occasionally signing a few, Jahaan pretended to imagine all the wonders that could be going on through that little hole in the fabric.

_ They could be holding a celebration? They’d dealt a significant blow in the war against the trolls, after all. Or maybe, slightly more morbid, they’re tending to the wounded through there? Or maybe an evil tree has just spring from the ground and a panicked little leprechaun is freaking out about it? It wouldn’t be the first time. _

It had been five minutes.  _ Has he forgotten about me? _ Jahaan wondered.  _ I’m right here. Like, there’s no way he can’t see me in his peripheral vision. _

Then, the worry he’d kept at the back of his mind started to creep forward and say a friendly little ‘hello’.  _ Am I in trouble? _ Jahaan wrestled through his memory, trying to make a list of all the things he'd done that he knew he shouldn’t have done.  _ It can’t be about Coal. That JUST happened. Is he trying to psych me out? Is this some sort of intimidation tactic? _

If it was, it was working.

“You've been here two years,” the commander stated, so suddenly that it startled Jahaan, causing him to jump. “Turnaround for recruits is usually six months. Why'd you stick around?”

It took too long for Jahaan to remember how his tongue worked, and that it was used to formulate words. Words, in turn, formulated sentences. Marvels of the common tongue.

The expectant, impatient glare Denult shot at him wasn’t helping him with this realisation. Eventually, he stammered a reply, “Burthorpe and Taverley are fine cities with a lot of innocent people. I wanted to do my part to protect them.”

Commander Denulth didn't seem impressed. “Is that true?”

“Yes sir,” Jahaan lied. Well, for the most part. 

“So you think yourself a hero, huh cadet?”

“No sir.”

“Is your story supposed to warm the cockles of my cold heart?”

“No sir.”

“Why'd you join up in the first place?”

Jahaan bit back the urge to smirk. “I wanted to become an excellent swordsman, like you, sir.”

“Oh, are you trying to flirt with me now, cadet?”

“No sir.” 

“Good, then stop with the forced compliments, or you'll make me change my mind.”

Jahaan blinked. “Forgive me, sir, change your mind about what?”

Commander Denulth replied, “I'm sending you to Sir Tiffy. Whether he makes you a Temple Knight or his shoe shiner is up to him.”

_ The Temple Knights!  _ Inwardly, Jahaan gasped. He’d only heard tales about them, It took a beat before Jahaan could stumble through his thoughts well enough to reply, “I-I'm honoured sir, but why?”

Denulth grunted. “Don't give me any false modesty princess bullshit. You're better than most of the cadets here and you know it. I don’t like to see potential wasted on some Bandosian brutes.

Jahaan bit his lip, and against his better judgement, mentioned, “But sir, the Temple Knights are a Saradominist militia. I’m not a Saradominist.”

Denulth rolled his eyes, leaning forward on the desk, which caused Jahaan to lean backwards out of instinct. “All the shit’s I give about what god you pray to could fit into a thimble, cadet. If Tiffy’s smart, he’ll have the same view when it comes to new recruits.” 

He took his seal and stamped the red wax onto a signed letter. Even though the wax was still dripping, he handed it over to Jahaan and said, “You leave at sunrise. When you see him, tell Tiffy to send over some more recruits. Those damn White Knights won’t allow conscription, but we need the warm bodies at the front.”

“Yes sir,” Jahaan bowed as he took the letter, and hurried to exit the tent while his head was still attached to his shoulders.


	2. Knightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of my full series 'Of Gods and Men', and on my page can be read in full (or as far as I've posted). I'm also posting it in smaller chunks as each 'quest' can sort of be standalone, but read as part of a wider story as well.

Looking down at the tiny little section of his tent where his bunk sat, Jahaan suddenly felt very sentimental. This ten by ten square of cloth and grass had been his home for the past two years. He’d had bunkmates come and go, but there he remained.

From under his low bed he dragged out a tattered rucksack, dusted it off, and opened it up wide. All that was inside it was his paypackets from his time in the Guard, alongside a thick sweater and an amulet he was given in Menaphos as a child, just before he left the desert city.

Then, he pulled out everything he’d kept over the years from beneath the bed: a small fishing net, an iron dagger he’d smithed himself, a bronze hatchet, a tinderbox, and a handful of runes for some of the simplest of spells.

After carefully packing all of these into his rucksack, he searched around the rest of the tent for some spare rations he could commandeer for his travels. All he managed to find were stale bread rolls and a couple of bruised bananas. Frowning, he packed them anyhow, hoping the Temple Knights would feed him better than he was used to.

“Knock knock,” Ozan called out from outside the tent, poking his head in and examining the lavish surroundings. “You all packed?”

“Yep,” Jahaan confirmed. “Are you sure you want to risk coming to Falador with me? Didn’t you say the White Knights had a warrant out of you for trying to steal Sir Vyvin’s armour?”

Ozan snorted. “I’d rather take my chances with the White Knights than the white wolves on that mountain. I’m sailing to Catherby from Port Sarim, so it’s on my way.”

Shuddering at the thought of traversing White Wolf Mountain - once is enough for a lifetime; very few people survive it twice - Jahaan agreed Ozan’s chances with the Falador army were much better than those beasts. Besides, it gave them a chance to spend some quality time with their adopted troll baby, who as they were talking, chewed at his bunkmates bed linen.

“Seeing Ariane, are we?” Jahaan guessed with a wink.

Ozan broke out into a blush. “Maybe…”

 

The next morning, they were ready to leave. Well, Jahaan was - it took a few kicks to wake Ozan up at the early hour. After saying his goodbyes to his former comrades, Jahaan and Ozan left the principality and headed into Burthorpe’s town centre, making straight for Doric’s armoury. Over his time in the Guard, Jahaan had grown rather fond of the dwarf that owned the shop. He was always on hand to fix his dented armour, reminisce about battles since gone, or just share a pint of ale, or two, or seven...

The little bell rang as soon as Jahaan entered the hut, and he was greeted by a jolly smile from the dwarven store-owner. “Jahaan!” his gruff voice cheered.

However, as soon as the dwarf set his eyes upon Ozan, his warm demeanour slipped away in a heartbeat.

“Hey, no! You! Get out! Get!” he grabbed the newspaper next to him, rolled it up and repeatedly banged it on the counter, occasionally pointing it up at Ozan, who stood baffled in the doorway.

“What?! What have I- HEY!”

The dwarf resorted to throwing things from his perimentre at Ozan, luckily veering towards stationary and papers rather than one of the myriad of weapons that surrounded him. Jahaan didn’t dare step between them, but he tentatively reached his hands out, trying to calm this particular storm without landing a tape measure to his skull.

“Doric, take it easy!” he pleaded, snapping at Ozan, “Wait outside.”

Still completely perplexed by the dwarf’s hostility, shielding his face with his arms, Ozan wailed, “I haven’t done anything!”

“I find that hard to believe. Now close the door behind you.”

Once he was content Ozan had left, the dwarf untensed his shoulders, calming his angry breathing. Putting down the ruler-turned-spear, he said, “You shouldn’t hang around with scum like him.”

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan straightened his collar out and asked, “What happened between you two?”

“My wife!” he exclaimed, loudly. “He went for my wife!”

“I did not ‘go’ for your wife,” Ozan defended, muffled from beyond the door. “I was just being polite to her!”

From the impact of the hammer Doric threw against the door, the wood splintered quite grandly.

Gruffly, Doric continued, “Philanderin’ cad… I won’t have him anywhere near my shop.”

“Yeah, this does not come as a surprise to me,” Jahaan concurred, ignoring the insulted outcry from outside. “I just came to say my goodbyes. I’m on my way to Falador - Commander Denulth has recommended me for the Temple Knights,” he could barely contain his pride.

The dwarf shared in his glee too, his eyes lighting up like the distant stars. The glint in them was warmer than a thousand candles. Rushing around the counter, he squeezed Jahaan in a tight embrace, nearly crushing Jahaan’s hips as he did. “My boy! I’m so proud of you, laddy. Ahh you’ll make a fine knight. Promise you’ll come back and visit, only without that good-for-nothin’ behind you.”

Winking slyly, Jahaan replied, “How about I promise you that he’ll never step foot in Burthorpe again, lest he lose one of the two things he prizes the most?”

A smirk broke out on Doric’s hardy face. “Sounds fair to me. Oh, before you go, I wanna give you somethin’...”

Brushing off Jahaan’s assurances that he needn’t gift him anything, Doric began rummaging in the back of his shop. When he returned from the store room, he was holding a razor sharp, beautifully crafted, cyan blue dagger. He offered it up to Jahaan, who’s shining eyes were transfixed on the perfect blade, mouth agape. “I’ve just started smithin’ runite. This one turned out the best.”

Jahaan breathed out, slowly. He’d never even held runite before. “For… for me?”

“That’s right, laddy. Here, take it.”

Very delicately, Jahaan plucked the dagger from Doric’s hands, holding it as gentle as if it were a newborn baby.

Laughing, Doric exclaimed, “Those things are meant for fightin’, you don’t need to be so scared of the damn thing. Hold it like a man!”

Feeling more comfortable with Doric’s assurance, Jahaan switched up his stance and twirled the blade around it fingers, a trick he’d learnt from a fellow guardsman a year back.

“That’s my boy!” Doric slapped Jahaan on the back, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re a good lad. Don’t die out there.”

Tucking the blade in his belt, Jahaan smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to.”

 

When Jahaan emerged from Doric’s store, he saw Ozan had given the storefront a wide berth. The younger man’s eyes shot to Jahaan’s hip, eyes wide and shining. “Whoa, is that a dagger in your belt, or are you just happy to see me?”

Grinning, Jahaan took it from his hip and allowed Ozan to carefully inspect it. “A parting gift from Doric. He told me to castrate you with it if you returned to Burthorpe.”

Instantly, Ozan pushed the blade back in Jahaan’s direction. “Well, I’ll cross this off my holiday destination list then.”

“Seriously though, Doric’s WIFE?”

“I didn’t know she was his wife!” Ozan protested, like a child desperately proclaiming he didn’t spill the ink while covered head to toe in it. “Come on, we can probably make it to Taverley in time for dinner if we pick up the pace. This pretty face does not scream ‘wild camping’.”

 

They made it to Taverley by twilight. At Ozan’s insistence, they stayed at one of the nicest little bed and breakfasts in the small town. In exchange for a few gold coins and a couple of pints, Ozan regaled the patrons of the establishment with daring tales of how he defeated the legendary ‘three-headed mountain jackal of Nardah’ with only a slingshot and some rotten fruit. Naturally, he’d _embellished_ a little… the jackal only had one head, and he had a bow and arrow to fight it off. The only reason it was vicious in the first place was that, drunkenly, Ozan thought it’d be funny to throw a rotten apple at it. Still, the patrons seemed to get a kick out of the tale, and Jahaan wasn’t about to pass up free ale.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast for themselves and a half a can of garbage for Coal, they set off for Falador.

 

The crisp, beautiful weather of northern Gielinor shined on them that morning; glistening dew graced the grasslands that bordered their pathway, while the early morning sun bathed everything in an amber glow, carving out a picturesque scenery that stretched out before them. Along their travels, they encountered many other citizens making their journeys between the two cities. Some pushed carts full of wares and goods to market wherever the market took them; Jahaan had to drag Ozan away by his hair on more than one occasion - the man was like a magpie for anything shiny.

Coal was testing out his little legs to the maximum, determined to keep up with the two of them. The poor thing was barely as high as their shins, so Ozan and Jahaan took it in turns to let him sit on their shoulder as they traversed the pathways. Coal’s eyes shined with glee at the excitement of being up high.

 

They reached the high walls of Falador by twilight, white bricks tinted pink in the evening shadow. Half a dozen White Knights stood watch outside the entrance, with more pacing the fortifications above them.

Suddenly, Ozan stopped walking and passed Coal to Jahaan. With a wince, he hopped backwards a few steps. “Uhh you two go on without me. I’ll find a more interesting way inside.”

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan pointed out, “I thought you said they wouldn’t remember.”

“I did? Well…” he laughed nervously. “I mean, they probably wouldn’t, but… they have big swords, and after all that walking, I really don’t fancy having to make a run for it. You know, IF they happened to remember. Which they probably wouldn’t. But-”

“Just go,” Jahaan interrupted, shaking his head with a grin. “I’ll meet you at the Rising Sun Inn. If you don’t get thrown in the castle dungeon, that is…”

 

Modern day Falador was founded in the Year 8 of the Fifth Age, and with a population of over a hundred thousand, it stood as one of the largest cities in all of Gielinor, and the capital of the Asgarnia region. Citizens came from far and wide to trade in the market square that bustles from dawn to dusk, or to enjoy the variety of inns offering a wide range of scrumptious dishes. The main attraction, however, was the White Knights Castle, the largest fortress in the Saradominist world, managing to stand superior to the castles of the kings in surrounding regions. Though technically Falador was still a kingdom, the king - King Vallance - has no power in the city. As he is very old and very ill, the White Knights gained political supremacy in his absence, and in order to ‘protect’ the king, they moved him to an undisclosed location. Many speculate the king is long since dead, but voicing such rumours isn’t wise if one values their tongue. The impressive military of the White Knights and the Faladian City Guards have long held back sieges from the Black Knights of the North, along with keeping at bay smaller Zamorakian plots and civil unrest spurred from those not content with the vice-like grip the Knights hold on the city.

 

With a friendly nod to the Knights he passed, Jahaan stepped forward into the perfectly paved, pristine city of Falador. Instantly, the crowds hit him, a pained cry from the blissful serenity outside the walls. Knowing he’d have to be ruthless, Jahaan steeled himself and weaved his way determinedly through the masses, mercilessly carving a path for himself. Though he tried his best to dodge and weave, sometimes a stern shunt to the shoulder is necessary to kick-start the idle legs of lazy tourists.

It’d been quite a while since Jahaan had last been in Falador, but he was too proud to ask for directions. Deciding the main road was doing nothing for his sanity, he thought it’d be wise to try and bypass the crowds by dipping into the side streets and making his way across the city through them.

About an hour later, and after passing the same barber’s three times, he regretted everything.

“Ozan better spin a really good tale to buy us dinner…” he grumbled to himself, continuing through the darkening city in what he hoped was the right direction. Coal was already growling with hunger; it took a lot of energy he didn’t have to keep the troll from trying to eat everything they passed.

After gods knew how long, he finally stumbled into the Rising Sun Inn, just as the sun had set. Ozan was already waiting there, at the bar, surrounded by two ladies and three pints of ale. Seeing an exhausted Jahaan stagger over the the bar top, he tutted and said, “And here I thought you were standing me up. Thank goodness I had these lovely young ladies to console my wounded heart.”

Trying and failing to a muster a polite smile to Ozan’s company, Jahaan slumped over the bar and motioned for a drink. “Dinner’s on you,” was all he said before he closed his eyes and tried to remember what silence sounded like.

 

Jahaan didn’t fully remember the large roast lamb Ozan had ordered for the two of them, accompanied by another two pints of ale. He didn’t remember Ozan joining in with the local musician who sang Oh Tales of The Elves three times on Ozan’s behest, until the patrons were so sick of it they threw a shoe at him. Jahaan didn’t remember the bar fight that ensued, not after the shoe incident - Ozan had shrugged that off with a laugh - but when he overheard someone saying he sounded like a strangled oxen. He didn’t remember four pints of ale dotted between these events, or the three that followed. He didn’t even remember going to bed, so it was quite a shock when he woke up with Ozan curled up next to him, sporting a fearsome looking black eye and cuddling Coal.

Jahaan’s pounding, swirling head, however, did not thank him for it. After revisiting last night in half a bucket, Jahaan at least felt well enough to rouse Ozan. However, he quickly thought better of it - the last time he dealt with one of Ozan’s hangover’s still gave him nightmares.

Instead, he stretched out his muscles, picked up his dagger and backpack, and went downstairs to eat the blandest thing on the inn’s menu.

A hearty breakfast of weak tea and unbuttered bread later, Jahaan was ready to face the world. Then, he opened the door, and shrivelled as the midday sun pierced his retinas and scorched his very soul, igniting his previously dulled headache.

“This is going to be a long day…” Jahaan sighed to himself, taking a deep breath before making his way towards Falador Park.

 

Falador was home to the largest park inside of any city in Gielinor; thirty acres of lush grass and neatly plotted flowerbeds, all attentively tended to by farmers from across the city. Alongside beautiful rows of multi-coloured petals were many patches of crops that helped feed the citizens of the Kingdom of Asgarnia.

The man he needed to speak to - Sir Tiffy Cashien - was known for spending most afternoons by one of the ponds in Falador Park. It stretched a quarter of the length of the city, with ponds, fields, trees and flower gardens to while away the hours around. The last time Jahaan had passed through, he saw the revered Knight gleefully feeding the hungry ducks half a loaf of bread in the oval shaped pond near the centre of the park, but he’d never dared approach the man before. In all honesty, Jahaan was rather embarrassed to introduce himself. He didn’t want to look like a fool, or trip over his words, or his laces, or anything that fate would deign rather amusing in front of one of his heroes.

After wandering the perimeter enough to confidently shake off his hangover, or at least shrink it to a reasonable size, he made towards the oval pond.

Here, predictably, he found Sir Tiffy Cashien sipping delicately at a cup of tea.

Before he started to approach him, however, his eyes caught sight of the six marble statues bordering the eastern edge of the pond. Halting in his tracks, he swallowed down bile that rose to his throat. The familiar eyes of the statues seemed to be following him, staring through his very being.

Taking a long, quivering breath, Jahaan shook his head, as if to physically shake the thoughts from his mind. Then, he steadied his resolve back to the task at hand.

Rummaging through his backpack, he plucked out the sealed envelope and, with as much grace and confidence as he could muster, walked up to the knight.

Sir Tiffy’s Temple Knight armour gleamed in the sunlight, wrapping around him like a golden cloak. Despite his age, his physical stature was still rather impressive, and his accolades spoke for themselves: decorated warrior, expert swordsman, and a soldier in the War of 164. Now he headed up recruitment for the Temple Knights, a Saradominist military organisation. Jahaan had always dreamed of meeting the man in person, only hearing tales of his bravery and valour around campfires in Burthorpe.

When Jahaan approached, he was greeted with an astonishingly welcoming smile that warmed his heart. “Good day, m’lad! How may I help you?”

“Sir Tiffy Cashien,” Jahaan kelt, bowing his head low. “I bring correspondence from Commander Denulth of the Imperial Guard of Burthorpe.”

If he had been looking into his eyes, Jahaan would have noticed Sir Tiffy sour at the name. “Hm. I hope this here isn’t another conscription request. I say, I get about one a month, what?”

After motioning for Jahaan to rise, Sir Tiffy carefully prised off the seal, slipped the letter out of its envelope and readjusted his monocle before beginning to read. The natural friendliness in his features gradually returned the further down he read. Once he was done, he carefully folded the letter up and tucked it away into his little satchel, regarding Jahaan with a curious expression.

“The commander has a lot to say about you, young lad,” Sir Tiffy remarked. “He thinks I should make you a Temple Knight. What do you make of that?”

As he rehearsed, Jahaan replied, “It would be an honour to serve the kingdom, sir.”

“Ah, but we don’t just serve the kingdom, m’lad - we serve Saradomin,” Sir Tiffy pointed out. As he spoke, his long white beard tickled his chin, and it made him smile even more. There was an air of joy about the man as he fumbled his way around a sentence, sipping his tea intermittently and with delight. “Are you a Saradominist, son?”

Jahaan bit the inside of his lip. “Yes sir.”

It didn’t fool Sir Tiffy, evidently, as the man raised an eyebrow and pressed, “Are you really, lad? To be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me - unless you’re a Zamorakian, you can become a Temple Knight. Traditions aren’t my cup of tea. Tea is my cup of tea, here. Are you a Zamorakian, my boy?”

“No sir.”

“Guthixian, perhaps? You spent a lot of time with them up there in Burthorpe,” Sir Tiffy guessed, curiosity growing tenfold when Jahaan said he wasn’t. “Well, what then?” his eyebrows narrowed. “You aren’t another one of those cabbage worshippers, are you? Son, if I come across another one of those nutrition-guided fanatics I’ll-”

“I’m not particularly religious, sir,” Jahaan broke in, trying not to smirk at Sir Tiffy’s flurry. “I mean, I grew up in the desert, and they have the Pantheon, but I wouldn’t call myself an avid practicer of anything.”

Sir Tiffy seemed a little perturbed by this. “Not religious, m’lad? Hmph. Rare to see one of those nowadays. Well, better than the cabbage god.”

Taking the final sip of his tea, Sir Tiffy took his time to breathe in the fresh air around him, admiring the ducklings playing in the nearby pond. “I’ve got something that needs urgent attention, but these ol’ bones weren’t meant for travelling. One of our operatives - Sir Tendeth - is on his way back from a reconnaissance mission, gathering information about a possible attack on human settlements. He’ll be sailing back from Mos Le'Harmless tonight. Go to Port Sarim to meet him, and bring him back here safely. He's undercover, so he’ll probably be dressed as a pirate. Help me here, and I’ll make you a Temple Knight in no time.”

Suppressing his urge to grin in excitement, Jahaan once again bowed low. “Yes sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.


	3. As Rum Can Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of my full series 'Of Gods and Men', and on my page can be read in full (or as far as I've posted). I'm also posting it in smaller chunks as each 'quest' can sort of be standalone, but read as part of a wider story as well.

When Jahaan made it back to the inn, he wasn’t surprised to find Ozan still fast asleep, and still clutching onto Coal. After eating about two and a half bar stools last night, the little troll had clearly worn himself out.

Ozan also had to go to Port Sarim, so against his better judgement, Jahaan decided to disturb the slumbering beast.

It wasn’t pretty, but an hour later, they were ready to depart.

“Arrggg it burns!” Ozan cried, shrivelling up like a prune as soon as the sunlight hit him. “I’m blind! Blind I tell you!”

Smugness taking over him, Jahaan smiled down at his suffering friend. “I won’t lie to you - I’m enjoying this. Now come on, we’ve got to make it to the docks by evening.”

 

Gradually, Ozan recovered as they walked through the city and towards the gates. Unfortunately, in their slightly dreary state, the pair of them forgot the wanted sign on Ozan’s head. This caused the two of them to snatch up Coal and make an abrupt dash away from Falador, running long enough and fast enough to outrun the White Knights that began to pursue them.

Collapsing against the tree, the two men doubled over, gasping for breath through raspy throats. Ozan pushed himself off the bark and immediately fell over, toppling to the ground, groaning in pain.

Mercilessly, Jahaan kicked him in the side. He tried to get some words out, but his breathlessness decided against it.

Ozan mumbled something into the grass. Jahaan kicked him again.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming…” Ozan grumbled, dragging himself to his feet. Jahaan allowed the younger man to rest on his shoulder as they limped along.

 

The rest of the journey was rather uneventful, and gladly so. Port Sarim wasn’t far away at all, and the roads were fairly well-travelled, so it was pleasant to see the comers and goers travelling that afternoon too. Ozan was well-behaved when it came to the merchant carts, apart from one from a glassblower, all the way from the Kandarin region. From his wares, Ozan spotted a petite purple and green flower ornament, impeccably crafted. With ease, Ozan negotiated him down to a reasonable price. The man’s smile was blinding when he finally held his purchase delicately in his hands.

“It’s Ariane’s favourite colour,” he explained, proudly. “I don’t like to give gifts that wind up dead within a week. This’ll last longer than an actual rose.”

Even Jahaan was touched at the gesture. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Ozan had to pass Coal over to Jahaan to stop the troll from trying to eat his new trinket; it took a spare pair of gloves to sate the little troll’s stomach, but the two enjoyed watching him munch away eagerly at the battered leather.

 

It didn’t take too long before they reached Port Sarim. Having since expanded beyond a simple small fishing town, Port Sarim had become a haven for travellers, tourists and merchants alike. Jewelry stores bought and sold gold, magic and rune shops were dotted around the outskirts of the town, and even a battleaxe store managed to make its way into the fray, if you’re partial to such a brutish weapon. After all, you never know when you might need a big axe.

Port Sarim was also home to the biggest jailhouse in Gielinor, one that Ozan had frequented so many times he might as well have a loyalty card. Jahaan himself had ended up there one time, side by side with Ozan, but had managed to pick the lock and escape when a lazy guard was on duty. Honestly, the place had the security of a bird cage compared to the fearsome dungeons in other regions of Gielinor.

 

Naturally, the main attraction for Port Sarim were the docks themselves, providing cheap and convenient travel to many places across Gielinor. Being the largest port in the world, you were only a collection of coins and a few hours on the serene away seas from being on another continent. The clear blue waters of the sea splashed gracefully against the port walls, magnificent ships floating in the calm bay.

On the North Dock were the monks that chartered ships to Entrana. The holy island of Entrana was free to travel to, as long as one didn’t carry any dangerous equipment on their persons. It was a Saradominist colony, but in an attempt to expand their ‘flock’, followers of a handful of other religions were allowed to visit. No Zamorakians, though. That was very strict. Having never tried to sail there, Jahaan didn’t even know if he’d be permitted.

The Centre Dock was home to the Lady Lumbridge, in dire need of repair. Once a formidable ship, it was in tatters compared to its former glory. It was a miracle the crew managed to sail it back from Crandor in the state it was in. While the common stories say a bad storm battered it to pieces, the crewmen swear up and down the damage was caused by dragons. Jahaan was among the scarce few that believed their tale.

Also on the Centre Dock were the Void Knights, sailing those who wished to fight against the pest onslaught on the Outpost. Valiant soldiers sailed there every day to stem the tide of the invasion.

The Southern Dock was the most versatile, allowing for travel to many other ports across Gielinor, spanning multiple continents and islands.It was on Jahaan’s bucket list to travel to every single available destination, from the haunted city of Port Phasmatys, to the ogre encampment of Oo’glog, all the way to the western point of the world with the elven port, Port Tyras.

On the West Dock, pirates made an honest living sailing ships to Brimhaven, where access to other parts of Karamja was possible. This would be where Sir Tendeth was coming from. Jahaan had yet to sail to Karamja, but he’d heard the horror stories. Prior to its colonisation, Karamja was overrun with savages who partook in deadly murderous rituals to their gods. Many of these tribes still took over a large portion of the continent, known for attacking any outsider that ventured too close to their camps, usually with a poison-tipped spear. Needless to say, the pirates were known as the civilised ones in comparison, and that was saying something.

 

While they waited for their respective ships, the two men - and troll - decided to spent the hours in the next best thing about Port Sarim: The Rusty Anchor Inn. Because Port Sarim is such a major travel hub, the inn's customers were very diverse in background. Whilst sailors and workmen were its main market, many temporarily visiting the Port also stopped at the inn. The inn was popular amongst pirates, who were generally welcomed despite their violations of maritime law. The wide variations of ales and the splendid bar food was what kept The Rusty Anchor as popular as ever; the chaotic pub floor was crawling with guests from every corner of Gielinor.

Despite the hangover, Ozan ordered a pint of rum, justifying it as ‘chasing the dragon’. Shaking his head with despair, Jahaan ordered a fry-up and a glass of water.

Before long, Ozan’s ship to Catherby was ready to depart, and Jahaan waved him off from the dock. Coal waved a tiny little arm back too, which was delightfully cute. They’d promised to see each other again very soon, Ozan saying he’ll made a trip back to Falador in a fortnight or so to see Jahaan as a prestigious Temple Knight, and to allow Coal to spend some time with his OTHER father.

 

Two hours later and a call was made saying that Shippy-McShipFace was sailing into the West Dock, so Jahaan went out to greet Sir Tendeth. From descriptions he’d heard previously, he was looking for a small, black-haired gentlemen. Unfortunately, almost everyone who left the ship seemed to fit that description. On his tiptoes, Jahaan tried to see over the crowds for anyone who carried themselves like a knight, though potentially still uncover as a pirate. Eventually, Jahaan resorted to calling out his name, his heart filling with relief when a man shot a look at him from the gangplank. He was wearing a cream and brown striped shirt with baggy cotton pants, a pirate’s hat atop his head and an eyepatch over his left eye. A steel scimitar rested in a sheath at his hip.

The man’s right eye was wild and flitting erratically; he checked looking over his shoulder, and practically jumped out of his skin when someone accidentally nudged into him.

Jahaan tried not to let that phase him as he met the man at the end of the dock.

“Sir Tendeth,” he greeted with a humble bow. “Sir Tiffy sent me to you to find out about a possible attack, and to escort you back to Falador. Are you worried pirates are planning to attack Falador?”

Instead, Sir Tendeth flinched backwards, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Who are you? Are you one of them? I’m warning you, I’ll kill you, I will.”

The knight’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Jahaan lept backwards, his hands up in a calming gesture. “Sir, calm down! One of whom?”

“Them!” he insisted, growling. “They’re coming for us all. Judgement from the gods, I say! They’re going to burn us all!”

At this point, people were giving Sir Tendeth a wide berth, quickly hurrying past him without making eye contact.

 _Okay, pirates don’t exactly have that M.O…_ Jahaan thought to himself, curiosity growing. To Sir Tendeth, he suggested, “Why don’t we have a drink to calm your nerves a tad, eh? Some rum, perhaps?”

At this, Sir Tendeth seemed to soften slightly, mumbling, “Yes, rum… rum is good…”

 

Once Jahaan got Sir Tendeth settled at the bar, buying him a round of the strongest rum, the knight’s nerves seemed to calm significantly, and Jahaan felt the courage to say, “I’m a little confused… from what I gathered, you went undercover as a pirate, and they’re planning to attack the mainland… with fire?”

Taking a large swig of the rum bottle, Sir Tendeth pushed off his eyepatch and rubbed underneath. “Pirates? No lad, pirates attack ships, not cities. I was following intel on a much bigger threat. One that's a danger to fortified cities, ships, pirates, sheep farmers, old men wearing party hats... everyone!”

Suddenly, a loud, ear-piercing screech is heard from outside.

Jahaan’s throat became dry. “What’s that noise? Why am I filled with an intense feeling of dread?”

Sir Tendeth grabbed ahold of Jahaan’s hand and shook it manically; his huge eyes didn’t dare blink, and his skin had turned as white as a sheep. “They’re here! They found me! We’re all doomed, I tell you!”

Before Jahaan could go and investigate, the front door to the pub - along with most of the front wall - was smashed into rubble by a large fireball that fell from the skies. Jahaan just about managed to avoid being burnt alive by diving over the bar counter, but smoking debris from the explosion still rained down on him, covering him in a thick layer of smouldering wood and ash.

Fighting past the ringing in his ears, Jahaan tried to listen out for that haunting screech over the sounds of chaos and confusion, but it wasn’t possible - they all blurred into one frightening melody.

Coughing violently, Jahaan pushed himself up through the rubble, managing to get to his knees before he called out, “Sir Tendeth!”

The smoke impaired his vision, seeping into his eyeballs as well as his lungs. “Sir Tendeth, are you alright?”

A hand shot up from over the other side of the broken bar counter. “I-I’m fine… I just need a minute…”

Jahaan pulled himself to his feet, peered over the bar counter, and confirmed that Sir Tendeth was indeed unharmed, aside from a view bruises here and there. However, he was shaking like a leaf.

After a deep breath, Jahaan braced himself to survey the damage. Unfortunately, those closest to the door when the fireball struck hadn’t managed to escape in time. Others further out were wounded, being tended to be any lucky enough to come out relatively unscathed. Three men were already hurrying back and forth with buckets, trying to extinguish the fire.

“I’m going to go out and investigate,” Jahaan declared.

“Y-You go r-right ahead,” Sir Tendeth stammered, hugging himself. “I-I’ll just… um…”

With that, Sir Tendeth huddled into himself back on the floor. _Poor bloke looked traumatised._

Climbing over the destruction, Jahaan struggled past the smoke and ash to make his way outside. There, the extent of the damage really unfolded; wooden buildings were engulfed in flames with people rushing around desperately trying to put them out, while others tended to the wounded and nursed their injuries. The glorious port town of Port Sarim had been broken in half. Almost all of the ships had been attacked by fire - now, the Lady Lumbridge _definitely_ was beyond repair, and its crewmen mourned its loss.

 

Jahaan saw a sailor leaning against one of the more sturdy buildings, dousing himself with water from a well, and approached him. “Excuse me, did you see what happened?”

“I were walking along, minding me own business, when something chucked a ruddy-great big fireball at me!”

Gasping, Jahaan pressed, “Did you see who did it?!”

The worker replied, “No, I were too busy writhing in pain.”

“I see what ‘appened,” a voice from nearby called out. Turning to the left, Jahaan spotted a somewhat scorched pirate - Patchy - taking a gulp of dark liquid from a bottle, sitting on the ground and clutching his leg. “Ow, me bones! Arr, I'll likely be needing a peg-leg now.”

“Oh, that’s terrible!” Jahaan fretted.

Shrugging, Patchy replied, “It ain't so bad - they be quite teh fashion with us pirates.”

Considering this, Jahaan commending his ability to see the silver lining. Then, he asked, “So, you saw who did this?”

“Arr. Dragons, I tell ye.”

“Dragons did this?”

“Aye, they be bony dragons,” the pirate affirmed, taking another swig.

Jahaan inquired, “What, like a wyvern?”

“Nah, these stood tall like men. Taller. And I swear one of ‘em said something,” the pirate explained, soothingly rubbing his bruised leg.

“Where did they go?”

“The forest way, I tell ye, but don’t you’s be going after ‘em, lad!”

“I won’t,” Jahaan lied, quickly making his way towards the forest to the east in the hopes that they were still there. Now, what he was going to do if he did confirm there were, indeed, dragons attacking cities, he did not know. However, he needed to see it with his own eyes first…

 

Heading into the forest, Jahaan made sure to be as light-footed as possible as he ducked for cover between trees, trying to be stealthy as to not to alert anyone of his presence. As soon as he heard gruff voices coming from deeper inside the forest, he proceeded with increased caution, nimbly creeping through the undergrowth.

Before long, silhouettes emerged from between the leaves and branches that were protecting Jahaan from being noticed, and the sight sent a cold chill up and down his spine.

Just like the pirate’s description, the creatures did indeed stand upright, like men, though slightly taller. They were svelte, olive green scales defining their limbs elegantly, but the way their features were sculpted… they didn’t look like they were born - they looked like they were carved. Their tucked wings were as delicately decorated as stained glass, but razor sharp at the edges, terrifying to behold. Both of them seemed to be wearing some sort of tunic, black with gold trimming, with an unfamiliar symbol centre on their chest. One of them wore a navy blue hooded cape that draped loosely over his lizard-like skull. The other’s cape was crimson, its hood resting downwards, allowing the mohawk of feathers atop his head to blow in the stiff breeze.

They didn’t look like any dragon he’d ever seen - well, he’d seen two, so the bar was low - but they were certainly… _dragon-esque._

“Grah! Rage subsides for now. Destruction eases the pain,” the creature’s voice sounded like it was ingesting gravel as it spoke.

“Yet rage continues to build,” the other one contributed. “Someone must still be using the Stone of Jas.”

The first dragon-like creature roared. “Then we should attack more. More shall suffer. Mass destruction will ease pain.”

“Yes! But we must also continue our search - we must find the Vosk. The False User.”

“Soon, Sithaph,” the first dragon assured. “The Kalist will bring us to him. The False User will suffer as we suffer.”

The two of them ascended to the skies, screaming as they entered the clouds and faded away into the horizon.

Jahaan fell back against the tree he was hiding behind. “Attack _more_?” he muttered to himself. “This is bad. I need to go back to Sir Tiffy.”

 

It took a LOT of persuasion to get Sir Tendeth to even step outside the ruins of the bar, let alone make his way back to Falador. In his paranoia, the man was convinced he heard that haunting screech at every turn, thought he saw their swooping shadows above him constantly. To be fair, the knight hadn’t been back on land for more than half an hour before the port was attacked, so he had just cause to be terrified.

Despite it being night time now, Sir Tiffy was still waiting by the pond, a fresh cup of tea in hand, enjoying the evening air.

When he saw Jahaan and Sir Tendeth approaching, he almost spilled his tea in excitement, quickly setting it down before a spillage could occur.

“Tendeth!” he exclaimed, jollily. “You tough ol’ cookie, I knew you’d make it back!”

However, Sir Tendeth didn’t even look Tiffy in the eye, vacantly staring off into the middle distance as his bottom lip quivered, unable to form a single word.

Sir Tiffy crinkled his brow. “What’s wrong with him, old chap?”

Jahaan winced, scratching the back of his head. “He’s… a little shaken. Long story short, the threat Sir Tendeth was pursuing turned out to be dragons. They attacked Port Sarim almost as soon as he docked there!”

Tiffy’s mouth fell open. “Dragons!” his wild gesture knocked the tea cup over, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you sure, my lad?”

“Yes sir,” Jahaan confirmed. “And not just any dragons - they were weird, bony, almost humanoid. And they spoke! I followed them through the forest, and they talked about attacking again!”

“I say, this is absolutely dastardly! The creatures you speak of, they sound familiar. They sound like dragonkin. Legends of the Fourth Age talk of such creatures. They've not been seen in my lifetime, though, and I've been around for a good old while, what?”

Tiffy stood up and decisively announced, “We will go to Falador Castle and bring this information to some of my most trusted companions. The circle should stay small for now, old chap, until we know exactly who - or what - we’re dealing with. Don’t want to incite a panic now, do we? Are you with me, lad?”

Saluting, Jahaan exclaimed, “Yes sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.
> 
> (QUEST FINISHED)

**Author's Note:**

> As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.


End file.
